BB15 | Refracted | Part Three
The office is just the same as the day before, yet somehow appears brighter in the morning hours. Jared can swear there is a spotlight overhead calling him out. For ditching his first period, for being at the counselor’s office when he’s led nothing but a good life, for harboring great fears about himself that no one should ever speak aloud …
The same sign hangs at the main door and Jared again takes his time entering the office. This time, there is no student counselor manning the desk, but there is a half-page sign on the surface with Lucy from Peanuts leaning against a psychiatry booth declaring THE DOCTOR IS IN. Jared sits in an arm chair against the wall and smiles as he takes in Lucy’s boredom, waiting for a patient. He wonders if Ms. Smith sits just like that throughout the day, or if she’s thoroughly busy every period. There could be any number of students needing an objective ear, hiding illicit secrets, escaping their lives in the face of something new. For the first time in a long, long, long time, Jared feels like any other kid in this school who is struggling with who they are.
At half past the hour, a side door opens with Ms. Smith leading a young girl out, maybe a sophomore, or even younger. Jared sits up straight as she spots her splotchy cheeks and tear-rimmed eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. Ms. Smith rubs the girl’s back as she motions her towards the door and promises things will be okay.
Jared watches the girl leave then turns to Ms. Smith standing just before him with her hands perfectly folded together near her waist. Her bright blonde hair is draped to the back of her neck in a whispy bun that adds a touch of delicacy to the straight lines of her perfectly-ironed blouse that’s tucked into a tight pencil skirt.
“Hi, how can I help you?” she asks warmly, and Jared is eased for a few seconds.
His fingers tighten around the arm rests as he feels the words coming up. He bounces his knee a few times, then sets his hands over his thighs to keep them steady. “I think I need to talk to someone?”
She smirks without attitude, just a hint of amusement and care. “Are you asking if you do?”
“No, no,” he quickly insists. “I do. I really do.”
She smiles softly then motions him to follow her. “Okay, come along.” Her office is dim compared to the outer lounge area. Only a few of the overhead lights are switched on, and the blinds are turned upward to allow some light in without being obnoxious in a student’s face as the other chair is angled towards the windows.
Jared checks out the room in its entirety, which is not much bigger than his parents’ walk-in closet, and admires the colorful artwork on the walls. Each piece is a crude estimation of shapes and colors every child learns in pre-school, adding a dreamy quality to the space.
Ms. Smith clears her throat and holds a clipboard out towards Jared. “Before we begin, I’ll need you to fill out this form.”
He leans back from the papers like they’re on fire. As if this will allow him to pretend the papers asking for him to identify himself are not there. He doesn’t want his name written down for this visit, let alone the subject of his anxiety. “What kind of form?”
“Just administrative forms to verify your visit. I keep these files on all of the students I see.”
His stomach sinks and he thinks about a folder holding all of Ms. Smith’s thoughts on what he has to say … even worse, that other students - namely Student Counselor Jensen Ackles - will be within the same walls as these folders. Jared holds tight to the backpack strap at his shoulder, sweat building in his palm and making it hard to hang on. “What kind of files?”
“Typical counselor stuff,” she attempts to ease, but at this point, nothing will make Jared feel comfortable about any part of this. “The dates and times of your visits. Major concerns over your mental, or physical, health. Progress throughout your treatment.”
Treatment.
He steps back immediately and sputters out a response. “What? Like you think I’m sick?”
Ms. Smith’s eyes widen briefly before she settles into a calm demeanor and lets her hand slowly move through the air. “Why do you think that?”
“Are you a real doctor?” he asks to deflect his real concerns over the paperwork.
She playfully smiles and shrugs. “No, but I play a mean one on TV.” When Jared isn’t eased by her joke, she sits down in her large arm chair with the clipboard in her lap, arms folded over it to hide the paperwork. “I am certified by the State of Texas and the State Board of Education as a child and young adult counselor. Between Austin South and North, as well as the county’s junior highs, I see hundreds of students per year. All with a wide range of needs.”
Jared watches her carefully, observes how she’s looking right back with soft eyes that eventually ease the tension keeping his shoulders up high.
“Some students just want someone to listen to them, some need help planning out their future and managing stress along the way, others have big ticket concerns about their lives. That’s especially common in the older kids, when they have to think about moving into something new and changing their world all around.”
He gulps at the last example. Even as he’s sure she means seniors who are afraid to move away from home and do something on their own, it definitely applies to him for a whole other matter.
“So, now, the question would be … what kind of help do you need?”
“Probably …” Jared sighs, takes his time to release the air and tension stiffening his bones. “All of the above.”
Ms. Smith smiles sweetly and motions at the chair across from her. “Then take a seat and let’s get started.” She walks him through the form and it appears far less as imposing as he’d imagined. She needs his contact and personal information, along with future plans for college - University of Texas A&M - along with his major - engineering - and a handful of other facts for where he currently is in life.
After the forms are complete, she sets the clipboard on a short table beside her, crosses one leg over the other at the knee, and clasps her hands together in her lap. With a thin, yet easy smile, she considers Jared for a few silent seconds. Just as Jared opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, her smile curves upward. “Jensen told me you stopped by yesterday. Is everything okay?”
He cringes at Jensen telling her … at Jensen being mentioned … and at that question. He’s been asked it far too often lately, so he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “What does okay really mean, anyway?”
“What do you think it means?”
With a shrug, he looks just over her shoulder and out the window. The center quad is just beyond the glass with a well-manicured lawn and bright white cement sidewalks crisscrossing between buildings. It’s also completely empty and he feels a blip of security inch back in before biting his lip as he really considers her question. “I guess it’s for people who aren’t doing all that great or doing all that bad.”
“What do you mean?”
Another shrug and Jared turns his gaze to a spot over her other shoulder, tries to appear like he’s actually connected to her and her questions, even when they’re unsettling him all over. “Just … middle of the road. Average. Standing still.”
“Do you think you’re standing still?”
I think I’m at a fork in the road and I’m terrified of both directions.
She patiently waits for his answer, her held pose and the slight tilt of her head showing her interest in what he has to say. He meets her eyes and thinks over that for a while, stretching the silence out, but he’s so busy with his thoughts that it doesn’t bother him this time.
Seems like a lot of people have been asking him if he’s okay lately, and quite a few of them have stared at him waiting for an answer that he can’t string together. This is the first time it’s nonthreatening or lacking judgment.
Jared takes a deep breath and answers her head on. “I think that I don’t know where to go. I know where everyone wants me to go, but maybe I don’t want to go that way.”
“Is this about school?”
“Everything,” he admits quietly. “I’ve always done what was given to me, told to me, or expected. What if I want to try something new?”
He winces immediately. He hadn’t meant it for anything other than expanding his horizons for something Jared wants instead of what has been listed out for JT for years. But now the idea buzzes in his stomach, spins around in his head, and he thinks … yeah, what if I do want to try something … someone … new?
Ms. Smith nods with that same gentle smile in place, like she hears every word that goes unsaid and understands every bit of meaning beneath Jared’s answers - and it is perfectly acceptable. “What kind of things would you like to try?”
There’s no way he can say the immediate answer, so he thinks on it while biting the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know … just, something different.”
She nods again and shifts in her seat for a pale blue post-it note pad. With a thick, fancy, gold pen, she scribbles a place and time then hands it over to him. “I think this will be a great place to start.”
ROOM F120. 3:00 PM
Jared flicks the pads of his fingers at the adhesive so it catches on his skin then slowly releases. He knows that F Hall is for fine arts and there are a number of lectures and seminars given after class by any of the quirky, talented teachers who roam those halls. He hasn’t taken an art class since eighth grade; he always made too much of a mess of his clothes, hair, and other students to ever attempt it as a voluntary cause.
“Just give it a shot,” Ms. Smith needles. “You never know what you’ll get out of it.”
“And what is it?” he asks slowly.
“A chance for something different.”
Nodding, Jared thinks it’s not too bad an idea. He even offers her a tiny smile as thanks and folds the post-it with straight edges before storing it in his back pocket. It’s slim and takes barely two inches of space in his pocket, but it feels like a package on his doorstep waiting to be opened.
Jared runs his thumb over the rounded letters of Ms. Smith’s note and looks back through open doorway. F120 is a fine arts room, definitely, but there is no class or exhibit going on. Twenty short easels are set with work tables scattered throughout the space. A few hold artwork that must be waiting to dry before being claimed, but most of the pieces are hung on every bit of space on the four walls of the room. Jared leans in just a bit, not allowing his toes to cross the threshold, yet admires the expanse of creativity even as he fears the biggest elephant in the room.
Jensen.
The guy is hunched over a table, back a fine curve, and he’s scribbling in a notebook. The page is nearly all black as Jensen creates looping lines of white space. His lines are precise and sliver-thin, and Jared can’t believe Jensen is arting with such a fine-tipped marker.
More unbelievable is when Jensen glances up, does a double take between his notebook and the door, and then softly smiles. “Hey, Jared.”
Butterflies come to life in Jared’s stomach and the baby blue post-it in his hands is crumpled into a tiny ball as he considers what that fluttering really means. “Hey, Jensen,” he returns in a softer, flatter tone.
“Everything okay?”
Jared winces, just like he did in Ms. Smith’s office, or when others have asked him just that over the last week. He wipes his nose in agitation and plays with the balled up note. “Ms. Smith told me to come by F120 after school? Maybe I misunderstood?”
“No, you’re good,” Jensen insists. He rises and repositions a few items on the work table so there’s another sketch book and a handful of colored markers, fatter than the one Jensen tucks behind his ear. “She said she had someone I should meet … guess she didn’t realize we’d already met.”
“Guess not,” he mumbles.
“You can come in.” Smirking, Jensen lifts his hands in the air. “I promise there are no tests or homework.”
Jared slowly makes his way into the room, stopping short of the table while holding tight to his backpack’s straps. “What is this?”
“Just a little hang out? Sometimes Ms. Smith asks me to show students some creative things. Maybe to get their juices flowing …” Jensen stops to inspect Jared, from head to toe and back up again, then he attempts to hide a frown that Jared spots instantly. “Or to work out a few things if they need to.”
“You think I have to work out a few things,” Jared says more than asks.
Jensen continues smiling as he sits back on his stool, yet it’s an easier, less obvious motion. “Just an educated guess. You were pretty shaken up yesterday when you tried to see Ms. Smith.”
He thinks about it for few a quiet moments, all while Jensen flips through his sketchbook, passing dozens of black line art that Jared can’t dissect, but he can tell it’s all quite good. Finally, Jared sits down at the stool across the way so that the table is firmly between them and he can ease into this exercise. “What kinds of stuff do you do with the students?”
“Just talk and draw and shit.” Jensen pulls the market from behind his ear and twirls it between the fingers of one hand. “I can teach you a few things if you’re interested?”
Jared shifts on the stool, stretches his neck out, and does his best to ignore the quick spring of heat in his body. Maybe it’s what Jensen said, or maybe it’s just Jensen, period. “Like what?”
“What do you want to draw? A cat? Dog? You play basketball … what about something there?”
Quickly shaking his head, Jared grabs the green marker set by the second sketchbook just so he has something to do with his hands other than wring them together. “No, not that.”
Jensen nudges the extra book a few inches closer to Jared and flips the cover open to the first blank page. “Okay, what about cartoon characters? Or flowers, or even just some shapes?”
Even with the cap still on the marker, Jared drags it over the corner of the sketch book paper. He bites his lip as he considers what to say just so Jensen will stop asking a thousand questions and think Jared’s totally lost his mind.
He just might have.
Thankfully, there’s the noise of a throat clearing at the door, and Jared turns to Mr. Omundson standing in the hall and checking on them. “You boys getting up to trouble here?”
“No, sir,” Jensen responds. “Just a little work.”
Mr. Omundson hums while stroking the edge of his full beard. “I see people hardly working when they should be working hard.”
Jensen chuckles and Jared narrows his eyes, trying to hide the odd face he wants to make. “Of course, sir.”
“My father was sir. You can just call me Lord Omundson.”
Jared looks over his shoulder to find Jensen grinning at the A/V instructor, and now he can furrow his brows so Jensen sees that he thinks this whole thing is weird.
“Yes, my Lord,” Jensen responds even while looking right at Jared.
“That’s more like it,” Mr. Omundson replies. “Have a good afternoon, boys.”
When the teacher’s footsteps grow quiet, Jared lifts his eyebrows and points his green marker towards the door. “And what was that?”
Jensen lowers his head and chuckles. “Just Mr. Omundson being himself.”
“He’s always like that?”
“Every day, near abouts. He’s a funny dude.” He taps his black pen against his lips, drawing Jared’s attention to the plump lower lip, which sets a chill through Jared’s body. “Actually, just yesterday, he insisted I call him sir. So, I guess he’s progressing.”
Jared drops his sights to Jensen’s chest to avoid seeing his mouth, or his eyes, or all the tiny freckles that fill his cheeks and nose - tiny golden dots Jared had never seen before, not when they’d kept more distance between them. He now focuses on the rainbow strand of Jensen’s lanyard and swallows hard. “Your badge,” he prompts.
“Yeah?”
“And the … the string.” He swallows down another thick lump in his throat, but then his mouth is completely dry. Still, he knows he can’t start this topic and then let it drop without drawing serious questions about his mental state. “Yesterday, you said it was real. The rainbow, it was real?”
“Yeah, it is,” Jensen answers swiftly. “The rainbow is a symbol of my people.”
Jared’s heartbeat thumps loudly in his ears to have the confirmation once again. His pulse is harsh and it echoes, but then his breathing sounds even heavier as he fights to ask the question. His vision is watery and he won’t dare blink or else tears will fall. “And what people is that?”
“The leprechauns.”
Immediately, Jensen has Jared’s full attention and they’re staring at one another until Jensen’s lips widen in a bright, toothpaste commercial worthy smile.
“You know, little wee guys who get gold at the end of the rainbows?”
There’s no real response here, so Jared chuckles. And then laughs. And finds himself crying with the sudden change in emotion, tears spilling down quickly as he loses his breath from laughing so hard.
Jensen ends up laughing as well - more likely at than with Jared - then shows a lopsided smile when Jared’s come down from his laughing spell. “Never had such a great reaction to a joke.”
“I don’t know,” he huffs while catching his breath and wiping moisture away from his eyes, “it just came out of nowhere.”
“Yeah, I guess it did. Kind of like me.”
Jared can feel his face freeze and he’s amazed by Jensen’s frankness. The reckless abandon to say such a thing and not show an ounce of regret.
“If that’s what you were getting to, with the rainbow and all.”
“Yeah,” Jared admits with a heavy nod. Then quickly adds, “But not in a bad way or anything. I was just curious.”
“That’s cool.” Jensen spins on his stool to grab a handful of markers then picks up the ones by Jared’s sketchbook. He uncaps one, draws a clear blue arc, caps it, and tucks it into his left hand before grabbing the red, yellow, and a handful of other colors. He traces identical, successive arcs to form a rainbow at the corner of the page his sketchbook is open to. As he does it, he speaks quickly with a light voice, like he’s leading a class of young kids. “You know that a perfect rainbow is created by Newton’s sevenfold of ROY G BIV. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.”
He looks to Jared with crinkled eyebrows and tiny lines creasing the sides of his eyes. Jared searches Jensen’s face for a hint as to what else he’s supposed to do or say. The answer isn’t there, but it is in the one empty ring of the rainbow. Of the seven colors, only green is missing and Jared has that marker still in his hand, giving him something to play with. He fights holding onto it, then recognizes that’s more foolish than just letting Jensen have it.
Jensen smiles when he takes the green marker then fills in the blank spot of his perfectly arced rainbow. “Rainbows are an optical illusion between water and the sun just after a storm.” He traces the edges of the rainbow with his thin black marker, dragging the corners out for extra effect. “I like to think that’s exactly how it is to come out … to find the light in life after the storm.”
It’s fascinating to take in the calm of Jensen’s voice as he explains it. To see the set angle of his brow as he draws, and to have this quiet moment where Jensen is thoughtful. “Is that how it was for you?”
Slowly, Jensen nods. He sets his elbows on the table, threading his fingers together and tapping his pinkies on the desktop as he looks at Jared. Really looks at him. “It’s a really dark storm to go through, to know what you really are and knowing that it’s alright, that it’s safe and fair to be true to yourself. But once I let go of that, and found people who cared about who I was, and not what I was … it’s been nothing but bright colors since then.”
The words settle heavily in Jared’s mind and now his heart drags so slowly, he wonders if he’ll pass out. His vision blurs and his hearing buzzes for a couple seconds before everything clears up and he’s left staring at the content, comfortable, and accepting look on Jensen’s face. He considers all that he can see of Jensen right now, including the black button up with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, light grey Henley beneath it, a silver chain barely hiding behind the few open buttons of his shirt, and the short sides of his hair, which accentuates the tall, thick tease of his faux hawk.
Jensen is definitely his own being, has preserved his own style that skates on the edge of popular and outcast without being deemed as one or the other. According to Austin South, Jensen is one of the more popular outcasts, and Jared thinks perhaps Jensen has the best of both worlds. To be known and acknowledged by many while retaining his sense of self. It’s also obvious Jensen is full of thoughtfulness and compassion, from his volunteering as a student counselor and this afternoon right here. It’s a straight contradiction to the smug, mouthy persona he’s shown at the bonfires at Kane’s farm.
Jared finds a lot of words mixing together as he tries to make out the right sentiment to bookend Jensen’s story, but nothing makes sense and Jared’s tongue feels too thick in his mouth to actually say anything aloud.
There’s no need to, however, because his phone chirps with bird noises, which he knows is his 3:30 PM alarm. He needs to get his ass to practice, and fast.
“Thanks a lot, but I have to go, gonna miss practice,” Jared mumbles as he spins off the stool and hurries into the hall.
“Hey, Jared!” Jensen calls after him without leaving his seat. Jared is back in the doorway before he realizes he’d turned back into the room. “Any time you want to learn how to draw, I’m around.”
Instantly, Jared feels bright and full, light on his feet with a nervous smile that burns the corners of his cheeks to hold in. He wants to cry out in thanks, joke that he knows where to find Jensen, anything at all. He manages none of that, and winds up saluting Jensen with gratitude before racing down the hall and over to the locker room.
“How was school, JT?” Mama asks as she passes a casserole of macaroni and cheese to Megan.
Even as they’re preoccupied with swapping dishes, and his father is already digging into his pork chop, Jared can feel all eyes on him.
“It was fine,” he replies, but it comes out like a question.
“How about practice?” Papa asks. His hand is expertly slicing a knife through his meat while his sights stay on Jared. “Everything going okay there?”
Somehow, okay is a trigger for a faster heartbeat and fire filling his veins. He doesn’t want to hear that word anymore, or consider what okay really is when he’s already sorting out the whole issue of really not being okay. Not to his friends or his family, and especially not under the eyes of the Lord.
“JT, your father asked you a question,” Mama prods.
“Yes!” he insists haughtily. “Everything is fine at practice!”
“Sure sounds like it,” Megan mumbles, and Jared glares at her for trying to make it worse.
“What about at church?” Mama offers. “Maybe you can help out a little with weekend Bible studies?”
He doesn’t want to go anywhere near church right now, and he certainly doesn’t want to give up his weekends for more responsibilities. “Why?”
“To get a little soul back in you.”
Jared narrows his eyes, even as Mama keeps to her plate and fills her fork with macaroni. Does she know about his crisis? Is she insisting all will be well if he just repents to God? He knows what people at church think of people like Jensen … like what Jared thinks he just might really be, and he’s afraid to consider how his parents will walk that line between family and God. “What does that mean?”
“Just … maybe … you could use a little adjustment with your attitude.”
“I don’t have an attitude,” Jared huffs.
“Well, right now, I’d surely think otherwise.”
The condescension in her words and tone socks him right in the stomach, and he sits forward with anger threading through him. “I don’t have an attitude!”
“You best think twice before saying that again.”
The ferocity of her voice is matched by the intensity of her stare. Jared’s muscles war, half sinking back in defeat and the rest standing strong to keep him upright, steady, and confident.
“JT, son,” Papa says slow and firm. “What has been going on with you lately?”
Jared now stares down his father in the silence. His pulse quickens and his knees rattle with nerves. He wants to say something, anything. Tell them that he’s not okay, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Explain to them that maybe he’s not the 100 percent all-American boy they’ve always raised him to be, and it doesn’t make him any less of a good son.
The words fail him, especially at the dinner table, which has always been a holy place for family dinners and kind conversation. Even if it hasn’t been much lately, he’s not ready to start this saga with them here and now. Especially not now.
He waits until after dinner.
With his arms full of stacked dishes, he approaches Mama in the kitchen. She spares him a glance, but not much else as she takes the plates from him and loads them into the dishwasher. Jared hovers nearby, waiting for the right moment to speak.
Mama doesn’t grant him that moment, so he make it for himself. “I saw the school counselor today.”
She stays quiet, which only amplifies the tension in the room.
“I’ve been feeling really stressed and worried lately,” he admits, because while there are bigger hills to climb, he wants her to know something about what’s been going on. In this house, lying by omission is no smaller than outright deceit. “Danneel suggested it.” Maybe mentioning his best friend, and Mama’s favorite girl who isn’t Megan, will soften her.
Slowly, Mama turns and leans back against the kitchen counter. She wipes her damp hands on a dish towel then continues to twirl the fabric in her hands. Jared can’t tell what kinds of emotions are keeping her quiet, but he’s afraid it’s nothing good.
“I just thought it couldn’t hurt to talk to someone about how I feel.”
“You could talk to me,” she offers quietly, still hiding any real clue to how she’s taking this.
“It’s nothing personal. It just helps that Ms. Smith is a totally different part of my life, and I can be open and honest.”
“You can’t be open and honest with your own mama?”
Jared sucks in a breath and wills himself to calm against the passive aggressive voices that want to complain right back at her. “Sometimes, I need to talk about things you wouldn’t understand.”
“Like what?”
He gulps. “Like things I can’t tell you right now.”
Mama’s face softens and now the sadness in her eyes crumbles Jared’s defenses.
He wants to admit to everything and anything, no matter how true it all is. Tears build in his eyes as he fights for the right words to make it all better.
“And what about your Papa? You can always talk to him.”
“Not about this …”
“What is this?”
Jared closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and slowly releases through his nose. When he opens his eyes again, her cheeks are wet with slowly falling tears. “I can’t tell you. Not now.”
“Did you do something wrong? Are you in trouble?”
“No,” he says, even when he isn’t so sure.
“Can Father Thomas help you?” she asks, now pleading as if she’s trying to find him the right answer.
But Father Thomas is the very wrong person to be brought into this. Jared shakes his head and takes a few steps back, trying to get closer to an exit. “Not right now. Ms. Smith and Jensen are help-”
He halts all movement -his legs, his mouth, even his lungs. Just saying the name brings a fresh wave of nausea and dizziness.
Slowly, methodically, he rephrases his sentence. “Ms. Smith is helping me out.”
Mama nods so minutely, he could’ve missed it in any other context. But here, he is just as critically assessing her and her reactions as she is him.
Another tense moment passes between them, neither saying another word. Jared finally takes that long-needed exit and heads upstairs to actually do some homework tonight. He feels like he now needs a distraction from his distractions.
“Don’t be afraid!” Jensen calls out while Jared hovers in the doorway to the art room for the second time this week.
Jared is absolutely afraid and there isn’t much that will resolve that any time soon.
“I don’t bite!”
Jared smiles a little and takes one step forward. He still isn’t sure why he decided to show up again, but he figured it was his best option at the moment: talk to someone who has already driven down this road and has mastered his individuality.
“Unless you want me to,” Jensen says then cackles like it’s the funniest joke of the year. Once he calms down, he smiles brightly to Jared, face full of warmth. “Okay, okay, it’s a stupid damn joke. I promise it’s safe in here.”
Slowly, Jared makes his way inside and takes the stool across from Jensen. He watches Jensen draw a nearly-perfect bulls-eye, with black and red circles alternating around white space with such precision that Jared would guess it was manufactured if he didn’t witness it.
“You wanna draw?” Jensen asks without looking up from his work.
“Uh, sure,” Jared replies, because he doesn’t even know what he would attempt. He’s not an artist, and still is completely lost on how to talk to Jensen … especially about all that’s brewing inside.
Jensen continues with his next red ring and doesn’t say anything else. Jared sees the extra sketchbook right at Jensen’s elbow, and considers grabbing it, but is also still mesmerized by Jensen’s accuracy that he doesn’t want to disrupt the silence.
Once Jensen finishes the circle, he stretches his fingers and looks up to Jared, slowly smiling at him. “You gonna draw or just stare at me?”
“Um, I, uh,” Jared fumbles with words, “didn’t want to distract you.”
“Shit, I’m always distracted,” he laughs. “Don’t let my dumb bulls-eye fool you.”
“It’s cool. You’re really good at this.”
Jensen ducks his head to start the next black circle, his cheeks turning pink.
Jared frowns. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For saying something wrong.”
Jensen looks up with his eyes narrowed in confusion. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”
“But you were, like, embarrassed or something.” Though now, Jared is definitely the embarrassed one.
Rolling his eyes, Jensen stifles a laugh. “One thing you’ll learn about me is that I’m shit at taking compliments.”
Jared thinks about what that really means … learning about Jensen. It’s thrilling and frightening at once.
“But thank you,” Jensen says while glancing up at Jared, meeting his eyes for longer than should be appropriate for two teenage boys just … hanging out or whatever this is. Then Jensen focuses back on his sketch when he adds, “I appreciate it. Especially from you.”
He clears his throat and shuffles on the stool with nervous energy. Maybe Jared isn’t so great at receiving compliments either. “What do you mean? From me?”
Jensen shrugs and spins his book ninety degrees to continue the perfect arc of his circle. “Just, you’re not one to get involved in these types of things. So it’s cool if you like it.”
“I do like it,” he replies on automatic, then realizes he means it. As unsettling as it is to be here, he appreciates that it’s not anything normal for him. And given the stress of everything else he’s sorting out about himself, being away from his regular life helps.
“Good, I’m glad.”
And Jared slowly realizes that he is, too.
Jared is getting his things together at his locker, happy that the final bell has rung and he’ll have a nice break before practice. He’s begun to really appreciate the time he has with Jensen … even beyond it being Jensen. Just having time to do something without expectations has freed a great deal of stress from everything else going on right now.
He’s a terrible artist, can’t draw a circle without making it lopsided, and even his squares are mangled, but he tries and accepts the failure. And that’s more than he’s done before.
After all, Jensen encourages him every step of the way.
So after nearly three weeks of drawing together, even with very little conversation, he’s starting to finally admit to his friends that something else is happening before practice.
Matt jumps at Jared’s back just before hitting F Hall, laughing and horsing around. “Dude, where you going?”
Jared shrugs him off. “I have something I have to take care of … for class.”
Matt looks up at the bright blue F painted at the opening to the hallway. “Since when do you take art?”
“Since whenever, moron,” Jared replies instantly with a shove to Matt’s shoulder, like this is nothing new. “I have an art thing going on. I’ll see you at practice.”
“What do you mean an art thing? Since when do you do art things?” Matt laughs, which puts Jared on the defense.
“Since now, alright? What’s it matter?”
“Oh, Jare, c’mon,” he whines. “The cheerleaders are finally practicing outside.”
Jared shrugs. “Okay.”
Matt grins. “In uniform.”
He knows exactly what his friends are doing. They’ve been waiting for this day for weeks - have each year - and Jared suddenly realizes he never really cared. He’d go with Matt and Aldis and Stephen, and he’d laugh when the guys catcalled all the cheerleaders and got excited during splits and lifts and whatnot. But he honestly didn’t get anything out of it besides hanging with his friends.
And while that has always been enough, he knows that he has different priorities these days.
“Go on ahead. I’ll just meet you at practice.”
Matt stands stock still, staring at Jared. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. It’s fine. You’ll be dying when they build their pyramid, and crying about why you can’t be in it. You won’t even notice I’m not there.”
“That’s probably true,” Matt snickers. “But when I need a wingman, I’m coming for you.”
Jared takes the first few steps into F Hall and shakes his head. “You never needed a wingman, and I’m a bad one anyway.”
“That is definitely true!”
He waves off his friend and continues down to the art room, where Jensen is set at a bench with his head bowed to his book.
“Hey,” Jared offers when Jensen doesn’t look up. “What’re you working on today?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles in return then sits up with a fake smile. Jared’s not sure what it really means that he can already tell that it’s all wrong on Jensen’s face. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. What about with you?”
Jensen takes a big breath before looking up and makes a face. “I don’t know. Just one of those days, you know?”
Jared gulps, feeling bad that Jensen feels bad. He sits down and folds his hands on the table top, unsure of what to really say. He does know what Jensen would offer. “Wanna talk about it?”
They share a look, and Jensen finally chuckles and truthfully smiles. “Really?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Because I’m supposed to be helping you.”
He gulps again and flips his hands out. “Well, I can help, too. Maybe.”
Jensen laughs. “Maybe? That’s real comforting.”
Jared drops his head and takes a deep breath. Shame floods him for thinking he could have any impact on Jensen’s life.
“Hey, I’m just kidding,” Jensen insists right away. “I’d love to have a little help. Even just someone to bounce ideas off of.”
He picks his head up quickly with a hopeful smile. “Yeah, I can do that for sure.”
“So, for my art institute application, I’m supposed to submit a piece with an essay talking about it.”
“Oh, wow, art institute. Okay.”
“What? Is that weird?” Jensen asks with his eyebrows furrowed.
“No, not at all,” he insists. “Of course you’ll go to art school. That’s exciting.” And he means it, he really does. It just is surprising to hear of someone not going to a traditional university for business or science or something more formal. “Um, so, for your submission, is there a theme or something?”
“Inspire,” Jensen says with a mocking toss of his hand. “Like, how fucking vague is that?”
“Well, what inspires you?” Jared sits up and finds himself very interested to know the answer, not just in helping in this moment. “A place? Something that happened in your life?”
Jensen sighs. “I dunno, I guess I could make something up. Like the beach or whatever.”
“What about a person? Your family or a teacher? Someone who makes you think differently about the world? Or inspires you to be better and different and go for what you really want?” Jared slowly recognizes he’s essentially talking about Jensen’s impact on him thus far. “Or why you come here every day? Why you draw or why you want to get better at it?”
“People,” Jensen replies with a tiny, adorable smile. And Jared smiles in return. “I like helping people see different things. In life and in art and just in … everything they do.”
“You definitely do that.” He keeps Jensen’s gaze and nods. “You’ve already done that for me.”
“Then I guess I’ve got somewhere to start.”
And Jared thinks he does, too.
